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In hindsight, Eddie should have kept his mouth shut and kept walking, right past Billy Hargrove. But he was already in a terrible mood. The day started with him getting another F in Math, for forgetting his homework, which he’d actually fucking spent two hours on last night dammit and then left it on his desk. Then at lunch, his coke can exploded on his shirt, thankfully black, but it still left him damp and sticky and incredibly annoyed.
And now, fucking Hargrove, yapping the most insane bullshit to a small crowd of his devoted bootlickers from the basketball team.
“There he goes, the fucking pervert of Forest Hills! D’you guys wanna know what I witnessed this morning? So I’m walking to my car, and I happen to glance at Munson’s trailer, and seriously, I thought I’d puke. There’s the Freak, in the window, buck naked, swinging his ugly dick around. There are children all ‘round, mind you, all heading to school. My little sister could have seen! Absolutely disgusting, I’m telling you.”
Eddie stops in his tracks, his face burning. What the fuck kind of crap for brains was this guy born with? It’s complete bullshit, obviously. Eddie doesn’t exactly remember this morning, he’s usually barely conscious until he’s had coffee, and maybe his blinds were open when he was getting dressed, but Hargrove’s insinuations are absolutely unhinged. Eddie’s blood boils, and he makes a very stupid, very reckless, decision to turn around and speak up.
“Did you get a good look then, Billy?”
“Huh?” Hargrove pauses mid-laughter and lifts his eyebrows, as if surprised that Eddie actually faced him.
“Well, if you’ve seen enough of my dick to make a judgment on its ugliness. Did you use binoculars? Take your time, enjoy the view?”
It’s fucking suicidal, he knows. He can tell Hargrove’s about to pounce, stance widening, the vein on his temple pulsating. He should run, but instead, for some reason, he keeps running his mouth.
“And also, prey tell, if my dick is so ugly, what sorts of dicks do you find pretty? Do you like ‘em longer? Uncut, maybe?”
The jock crowd actually finds his comments hilarious; some of them snort, hiding it behind their palms. That doesn’t save Eddie. That only makes it worse, if anything, because the next second, he’s being slammed back against the lockers so hard it knocks all breath out of him.
“You calling me a faggot, you fucking perverted piece of trash?” Hargrove snarls, spit flying in Eddie’s face, barely giving him a chance to inhale before he shoves his forearm against Eddie’s throat.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Eddie’s weird brain still comes up with a funny retort about Billy being into choking guys. But he’d need to be able to breathe to actually say something, and if he’s honest with himself, the situation isn’t funny at all.
Eddie’s done it now. Crossed a line. Hargrove genuinely looks like he might murder Eddie on the spot, and nobody is doing anything to stop him. Hagan actually keeps goading him, cackling over his shoulder, smirking cruelly when Eddie briefly meets his eyes.
He tries to struggle, tries to pry Billy’s arm off of his neck, but to no avail; that only makes him press down harder. Eddie’s lungs start to burn, his muscles growing weak, vision going dark. He’s completely fucked.
And then, a voice booms over the ruckus, from behind the crowd of jocks, causing everyone to look around to its source. It sounds vaguely familiar.
“Munson! That green piece of shit van yours?”
Hargrove also turns around, dropping his arm from Eddie’s throat, and Eddie coughs, struggling to catch his breath, relieved at the momentary reprieve. Although it seems like he just got out of the frying pan and straight into the fire, because Steve Harrington is suddenly in front of him, his brows furrowed.
“Do you park with your fucking eyes closed?”
Billy lifts his eyebrows, watching with mild curiosity as Harrington takes his spot in front of Eddie, glaring at him and slamming him against the locker with his forearm against Eddie’s chest. It’s not his neck, at least, and Eddie takes that opportunity to take big gulps of air, practically feeling the much needed oxygen filling every cell of his body.
And for a second there, as Harrington is right up in his face, the anger slips away from his features.
“Play along,” he whispers, barely audible, enunciating with his lips only, before the frown is back on, and he slaps his palm against the locker by Eddie’s head, the loud clang nearly deafening. “You scratched my goddamn car, asshole!”
Eddie flinches, squeezing his eyes shut for a second, can’t help it. The curious jocks behind Harrington cackle and jeer, someone starting a crescendo of “ooooohhh” that immediately gets picked up by the rest. Animals, all of them.
Eddie’s not sure what the fuck is going on, but he doesn’t really need to play anything, he’s still mildly terrified, and extremely confused. He feels other things, too, at being pressed into the locker by Steve fucking Harrington, and he’s deeply ashamed about it, just prays that his stupid body won’t betray him and make the situation infinitely worse.
And then realization dawns on him that Steve isn’t actually pressing his arm down. Even that initial push that made Eddie hit the lockers with his back was half-hearted, nothing like when Hargrove did it. And now Harrington’s just holding his arm there, against Eddie’s chest, making it look like he’s pinning Eddie when he’s really not. Eddie can breathe freely.
What is Harrington doing?
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, man,” Eddie chokes out, completely honestly.
“Oh yeah?” Steve narrows his eyes and then grabs Eddie by the shoulder, bunching up the fabric of his vest in his fist, and physically pushes him in the direction of the school entrance. Insistently, yet not so hard that Eddie could loose his footing. “Let’s go then, I’ll show ya what I’m talking about, Munson. You’re paying for this.”
The crowd parts in front of Harrington, letting them both through. Play along, Eddie remembers, still rather puzzled by this turn of events but deciding it’s his best strategy for now.
“Hey, Harrington!” They both turn around at the sound of Billy’s voice. Eddie feels a chill run down his spine. “In case you didn’t notice, Munson and I were in the middle of a… conversation.”
His eyes are cold, cruel. It’s just now that the difference between him and Steve strikes Eddie. Harrington did look convincingly pissed when he confronted him, but he wasn’t looking at Eddie like he wanted him dead.
“Well, can your conversation wait?” Steve bites back in a bitchy tone. He turns to Eddie. “Munson, do you mind?”
Eddie shakes his head rapidly. Between Harrington and Hargrove, he knows what the smart pick is. He’s pretty sure he never scratched the guy’s Beemer. Doesn’t even remember it being nearby when he parked this morning. And even if he did, he could easily buy his way out of that situation; fixing a scratch isn’t too expensive, business has been good this month.
Billy doesn’t look very happy at this turn of events. His glare bores into Eddie before shifting back to Steve. His pack of goons stands behind him, ready to jump in at a moment’s notice. Hargrove steps closer, getting up in Harrington’s face, cocking his head with that disgusting arrogant smirk.
“Oh, of course, if His Majesty King Steve demands it,” he says in a mocking tone. “I’m sure his royal affairs are more important.”
The jocks laugh. Eddie feels a push against his shoulder, realizes Steve stopped holding onto him and actually nudged at him to take a step away as he’s facing Billy, hands flexing at his sides but otherwise showing no emotion. Which is… sort of impressive, given that the bruises Hargrove apparently left him with a couple of weeks back are still very prominent on his face, even when faded to a yellowish-brown.
“What?” Steve deadpans, squares his shoulders. “Do we have a problem here, buddy? Shall we move this to the cafeteria? Lots of plates in there. Or you could stab me with a fork, just to change things up.”
Something flashes across Billy’s face, and for a second there, Eddie’s convinced he’s about to swing at Steve. But then he takes a step back with a frankly maniacal grin, shrugging and holding his arms up in a non-threatening gesture.
“Naaah, we’re good, Harrington,” he drawls out lazily, like he’s suddenly bored, can’t be bothered to continue this confrontation. “Go deal with your car thing. ‘83 Beemer, right?” He asks, sounding almost innocent, perfectly civil.
“Yeah,” Steve replies.
“Sweet ride. Can’t let him get away with it.” Billy bores his eyes into Eddie, grin still on his face. “If you ever scratch my Camaro I’ll bury you, Freak.”
“Duly noted,” Eddie mumbles, Steve’s hand already on his upper arm and dragging him outside.
Harrington lets go of him only after they round a corner, out of sight from the entrance now. He stops and leans back against the wall, blowing out a long, relieved exhale before he looks at Eddie.
“You got smokes, dude?”
“Uh… sure?”
Harrington wordlessly holds out his hand, expectant, and Eddie moves on autopilot. Fishes the crumpled pack out of his jacket pocket, takes out two cigarettes, holds one between his lips and passes the other to Steve. Lights up, then hands Steve the lighter as well.
“Thanks,” Harrington says, cupping one hand around the cigarette to shield it from a sudden gust of wind as he lights it.
For a minute, they just smoke in silence. Eddie’s thoughts are running through his head at a dizzying speed.
“Um,” he finally speaks up, glancing at Steve. “I didn’t scratch your car. Right?” His voice still sounds hoarse. He clears his throat; it's kind of painful.
“No,” Harrington snorts, tilting his head up to blow out the smoke in a very attractive manner; Eddie turns away as he realizes he’s staring. “But I figured you could, with the way you usually drive. It was believable.”
Eddie’s heart skips a beat. Did Steve actually just invent the whole thing just to… get him out of a fight with Hargrove? He runs the whole sequence of events through his head again. Play along, the arm not really pressing against him. Harrington facing Billy, pushing Eddie out of the way. Would Steve fight Billy for him? The idea of that seems completely insane.
“If I just tried to stop him he wouldn’t let it go,” Steve clarifies, interpreting Eddie’s silence as confusion. “We’d both be fucked. So I improvised.”
Holy shit. Eddie’s at a loss for words. He might actually swoon. Both from the adrenaline leaving his body, making him tremble a little, and the thought of Steve Harrington defending him.
“You gotta be careful with Billy, man,” Harrington warns, sounding very serious. “He’s not… not like Tommy. He’s not even Carver. Hargrove’s a fucking psychopath. He could actually kill you.”
Eddie finds no reason not to believe him. He’s seen firsthand the look in Hargrove’s eyes. Eddie touches a hand to his throat; he actually thinks it’s not impossible that Billy would choke him to death if Steve didn’t intervene. Harrington’s absolutely right; this might have been the dumbest thing Eddie’s ever done. He’s definitely not out of the woods, he’ll need to avoid Hargrove as much as possible for the foreseeable future, because there’s no way what he said would be easily forgotten.
And also, it sounds like Steve is speaking from experience. Eddie wonders, not for the first time, what happened between those two; the rumors have been wild and contradicting.
“Yeah, I bet.” He sighs, leaning against the wall next to Steve and taking another drag from his cigarette. “And I’m guessing none of his bootlickers would testify against him.”
“Even if they did, you’d be dead, so that’s not much of a comfort, is it?”
“Well. At least I’d die knowing Steeeve Harrington tried to save me. My knight in shining armor.” Eddie grins, trying to lighten the grim mood, to no avail.
Harrington gives him a blank look and slowly shakes his head.
“Not funny, Eddie.”
“Sorry.” Eddie ducks his head, the smile falling from his lips.
He realizes he hasn’t actually thanked Steve — for maybe, quite probably, saving his fucking life. And let the record show, Eddie Munson is not an ungrateful man.
“Uhm. Thanks, by the way. Really smart move, back there. I was only half-joking about the knight in shining armor, you know. That was… pretty damn heroic of you, Steve.”
Steve’s face softens, and he nods at Eddie. He tosses the butt to the ground and steps on it.
“Yeah, it’s… whatever. You’re welcome.”
“Why, though?” Eddie asks the question that’s been in the forefront of his mind this whole conversation.
Harrington stares at him, unblinking.
“Why did I not idly stand by and watch that psycho choke the life out of you, like the rest of those shitheads?” Steve’s voice is filled to the brim with sarcasm. “I don’t know, Munson, maybe because I’m trying to be a decent guy? I figured getting in the way of possible murder might be a crucial step.”
Eddie thinks on his words as he kills his own cigarette against the bricks behind him. He didn’t mean to offend the guy, it’s really just baffling, the whole situation.
“You’re doing pretty well at that,” he says, shrugging.
“What?”
Eddie gives him a lopsided smile.
“Being a decent guy.”
Finally, that draws a genuine smile out of Harrington. He even looks almost bashful, ducking his head, a faint shade of pink coloring his cheeks.
“Uhm. Thanks.”
They stand together in silence for a moment. It’s not particularly awkward, nor is it exactly comfortable. A weird middle ground.
“Fuck this place,” Steve suddenly says, turning to Eddie. “I’m skipping last period. Wanna join?”
“Me?” Eddie lifts his eyebrows, pointing to his own chest.
Harrington looks around theatrically.
“Anyone else ‘round here I could be speaking to?” He chuckles. “Yeah, you.”
Eddie doesn’t even remember what class they’re supposed to have. He frankly doesn’t care. Golden boy Steve Harrington is skipping, and inviting him to join? Like hell is he going to miss this opportunity.
“Sure,” he nods, an excited grin slowly splitting his face. “Amen to fuck this place.”
Steve matches his grin and tugs on his shoulder, patting his back twice as they start walking towards the parking lot. He’s a touchy guy, Eddie’s realized. Must be a jock thing; he can’t take it personally. Definitely shouldn’t take it personally.
“Let’s take my car,” Steve says. “If anyone asks, we went to Bob’s Repairs, you paid for the work. Gotta stick to the story, right?” He smirks.
Eddie nods. It’s a flawless plan.
***
That’s how Eddie finds himself in Steve Harrington’s infamous Beemer, on the side of a dirt road just out of town, after a brief visit to a drive-through. They’re both chewing on their burgers, a large serving of fries sitting on the console between them that they take turns reaching for.
It’s most definitely not a date, Eddie tells his stupid overeager heart. They’re just hanging out, obviously. But it’s still nice. And still feels surreal.
They chat about school, about plans for the future. How Steve isn’t sure what he’s even going to do when he graduates; he actively doesn’t wanna work for his dad, but he doesn’t know what he’ll do otherwise. Eddie’s not even sure he will graduate, judging by his record of staying behind for another senior year. At least he knows for sure what he wants to do; music. Making music is everything he’s ever wanted. He could just drop out and do it, Steve points out; and he’s right, but Eddie promised Wayne. That he’ll at least try and earn his diploma.
Steve tells him the story of how he ended up getting knocked out by Hargrove; how apparently the fucking racist psycho was after a black kid that his sister was hanging out with, and Steve wasn’t having it. How Billy played dirty and was actually losing the fight (go Steve!) until he smashed a plate on Steve’s head (oh no). Eddie feels chills down his spine, remembering the arm against his own throat. Yeah, the guy is definitely insane, and very dangerous. He’s very lucky that Harrington decided to step in.
“I actually wanted to ask a favor of you,” Steve says when he’s finished his burger, licking ketchup and grease off of his fingers — Eddie tries really hard not to stare.
“Uhm. Yeah? Sure, anything. I mean, you saved my ass back there, man, pretty sure I owe you multiple favors now.”
“You know Max, Billy’s stepsister?”
“Yeah, ‘course I know Max. She’s chill. Cool skateboard.”
“She intervened, that night. Talk about saving ass,” Steve laughs, although not happily, “she definitely saved mine. Knocked Hargrove out with a tranquilizer syringe.”
Eddie blinks. “She what now— Where’d she even get that?!”
“Long story. Anyway, she keeps telling me things are fine, that Billy avoids her now, probably embarrassed he got bested by a goddamn 13-year-old. And she says he’s never raised a hand against her. But I still worry. I mean… you’ve seen him. Who knows what’s going on in there,” Steve taps at his own temple. “So just… keep an eye on Max, would ya? I mean, you’re neighbors. I know she can’t always rely on her mom, and I’m not always around either.”
Eddie nods. Susan Hargrove’s drinking isn’t exactly a secret in Forest Hills.
“Of course,” he promises, feeling warmth in his chest at how fondly Steve speaks about a bunch of kids. Clearly cares about them. It’s incredibly sweet.
“You got a pen?” Steve asks, already grabbing a napkin from the food bag.
Eddie does; there’s always one somewhere in his endless pockets. He hands it to Harrington, heart already picking up its pace as he watches Steve write down a series of digits.
“Call me, if anything happens,” Steve says, passing the napkin to Eddie. “Like, even if you hear shouting or something.”
Eddie holds the napkin almost reverently, running his eyes across Steve Harrington’s phone number several times, memorizing it. Just in case he loses it; although like hell he will. He puts the napkin in his secret inner pocket, shoving it down as deep as it can go.
“Or, uh,” Steve keeps talking; Eddie glances at him and watches him fiddle with the pen, clicking it repeatedly. Like he’s nervous. “Just call me. If you wanna hang out again or something.” Dear god, Eddie’s heart is about to burst. “I mean, this was… nice,” Steve looks up, smiling at him uncertainly.
“Yeah. Sure,” Eddie quickly nods, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. “I’d love to. You’re… you’re a cool dude, Steve Harrington.”
He immediately winces at how lame the compliment sounded; but Steve only laughs, obviously happy with Eddie’s response.
"You're not so bad yourself, Eddie Munson," he says, looking right at him, a gunshot to Eddie's poor heart; then turns the key in the ignition to take them back to the school’s parking lot, which should be relatively empty by now.
The whole drive back, Eddie keeps unconsciously touching the inner pocket where the precious napkin with Steve’s phone number lies. He can’t stop smiling, and even if Harrington is tragically straight, just the chance of becoming friends with him is more than Eddie could ever bargain for.